


contractual obligations

by judypoovey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-18 18:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11880756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judypoovey/pseuds/judypoovey
Summary: Tyrion wants to piss of his family, so he takes to the internet to hire a fake boyfriend to drag to parties with him. Things quickly get out of hand.





	1. meeting the family

**Author's Note:**

> we just need more Tyrion/Bronn fic in the world.

Answering an ad requesting a fake boyfriend for some boring family Christmas dinner was not something anyone who knew Bronn would expect him to do, until they saw the price tag.

$500.

Eyeing the leak in the ceiling that Ros had unsuccessfully patched with duct tape, he thought that $500 would do him good.

So he responded.

The email was replied to quickly; _‘It’s Friday night, it’s a black-tie event so feel free to show up in a t-shirt and flip-flops’_.

He expected that this was some edgy, socially stunted basement dweller attempting to offend well-meaning, conservative parents, or something. But if he had $500 to throw around for a fake boyfriend for a night, who was Bronn to judge?

Somehow, the week ahead at his shitty grocery store job was more bearable knowing that he was going to get over a week’s wages in one night for pretending to like some weird neckbeard.

“You look weirdly happy,” Shae drawled, where she was lounging on the couch in one of Bronn’s tattered t-shirts.

“I’ve got a date,” he said. While the e-mail had made a joke about his attire, he’d settled on his lone collared shirt (which still had two holes in it) and a pair of jeans. It was a good compromise between casual and still looking like he showered regularly (not that he did, but…).

“Sure you do.”

\--

Tyrion Lannister was getting ready to pick up his ‘date’ for the annual Lannister Winter Holiday Party. It was a party for family and business associates.

Tywin had said ‘no, Tyrion, you cannot bring a lady friend’. So he had resolved to bring a gentleman friend.

It would be a funny joke, for the ten minutes they’d allow it.

When he got to the address this Bronn fellow had sent him, he noted that this was a particularly nasty section of Flea Bottom, a squat brick building with a few apartments in it. A lanky, dark-haired man was waiting outside.

Tyrion wasn’t expecting that to be Bronn. He expected someone who answered personal ads for a paid fake boyfriend to be a little more…desperate looking, at least, so he got out of the car and walked to broken gate.

“Are you Bronn?” he chanced when he walked past the guy smoking by the door that led into the apartments.

“Yeah. You’re my date, I take it?” he responded, throwing the cigarette down and grinding it under his heel.

“Yes. Tyrion Lannister. You’re better looking than I was anticipating.”

“I could say the same to you,” he said with an appraising glance. “I didn’t realize that you were Tyrion fucking Lannister. I’d have charged more.”

“The one and only,” he said, grinning and stretching out a hand to shake. Bronn took it and returned the grin with a smug smirk.  “I might need to go back on our deal, this isn’t going to be nearly as funny when I show up with a good-looking date. I was hoping for a real bottom-feeder type.”

“Well _I_ was expecting a basement-dweller. More Cheeto crumbs and bad taste in hats,” Bronn snarked back when he got into Tyrion’s car.

They both chuckled.

“So how does this work?”

“I’m not sure, I’ve never done this before with a non-prostitute,” Tyrion said. “I suppose you come, horrify my family with your low-class manners and I pay you and we part ways. We can forgo the sex, I imagine it’d be extra.”

“You couldn’t afford it,” Bronn joked. “So is this a sit-down dinner thing –”

“Standing, passed appetizer thing,” he said. “Important business and political friends. My horrible sister and her horrible son, and her two delightful children. My brother, all my stupid cousins. My father will hate you, and it will be wonderful.”

“I suppose he’s the reason you’re hiring men off the internet to accompany you to parties?”

“He told me I couldn’t bring a lady friend. He needs to learn to be more precise when he’s trying to ruin my fun.” Tyrion sounded bitter underneath his attempt at good humor. Tywin Lannister had been out to ruin Tyrion’s enjoyment of life for thirty-odd years, he didn’t expect he’d ever stop.

“Well. It’ll be a fun night while it lasts.”

\--

It was, indeed, a fun night.

Cersei looked appalled at the sight of them as soon as they walked in the door, but Jaime had that knowing, pained look on his face where he was clearly trying not to laugh at the joke that his beloved twin wasn’t in on.

“This is Bronn,” Tyrion said to his sister. “My _very serious_ boyfriend.”

“Clearly, since this is the first we’re hearing of him,” she said with a frosty smile, not accepting Bronn’s outstretched hand, looking at it as though he might be contagious.

Jaime however, shook Bronn’s hand enthusiastically. “Good to meet you.”

Bronn didn’t return the nicety, but he did kind of smirk. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Jim.”

Jaime just rolled his eyes. Tyrion cleared his throat.

“Jaime’s the one I like,” he said when they were clear of the twins. “Concentrate your efforts on her and the scary old man over there,” he said, pointing to Tywin.

Luckily, scary old dad had placed himself very strategically next to several trays of food, so Bronn decided that the first step was to be a terrible eater. Walking over, he didn’t acknowledge Tywin Lannister’s existence when he started shoving shrimp and bacon skewers into his mouth.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Tywin deadpanned.

Bronn took an extra large bite of shrimp. “’M Bronn,” he said, muffled. “Your son’s boyfriend,” he added, more articulately.

Tywin’s eyes narrowed and he found where Tyrion was regaling a young blond girl with a story, clearly genuinely enjoying making her laugh. The girl’s resemblance to his sister made Bronn suspect that this was Tyrion’s niece.

Tywin went over, allowing the girl to hug him before shooing her away and talking quietly to his son.

Bronn sauntered over, stepping in next to Tyrion. He was a very serious boyfriend, after all.

“— Told you not to bring anyone, you always do this.”

“You told me not to bring a _lady_ friend, and it’s just as well I don’t currently have a _lady_ friend.”

Tywin’s lips pressed together until they were a thin white line and he stalked off, intercepted by a shrewd looking woman in a smart green pantsuit.

“Hope I didn’t get you into trouble,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, loads of it. But what would my life be if I didn’t spend it tormenting my family?”

Tyrion went to find drinks, and Bronn found himself picking off the same tray as Cersei.

“So, you single?” he asked her.

“None of your business,” she said, her face tight and humorless. She was as pretty as everyone else in her family, but looked like something under her shoe smelled rank. “Quite inappropriate for you to say as my brother’s, ahem, _boyfriend_.”

“Ah, we’re pretty flexible with it. Like I imagine you are when you get out of that dress.”

“I think you should leave,” she said, in a tone that implied she wasn’t so much thinking about it as demanding it.

In a matter of seconds, a guy about twice Bronn’s size (and about three times as ugly) was at his elbow, steering him out of the house.

“How much do they pay you? I bet I’d be twice the security guard you are,” he said, sizing the bloke up.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, shoving Bronn through the door and slamming it in his face. He heard the lock click.

Easiest $500 he’d ever made, Bronn reflected as he waited by the car for a ride home.

Tyrion wasn’t far behind him, clearly a little drunk.

“You hit on my sister?”

“If she hadn’t booted me, I was gonna work my way through the whole family. Thought it was a solid way to make a shit impression.”

“My good man, you made the worst first impression in history,” Tyrion said generously, pulling out a check book and scrawling a signature on it. “Well-earned.”

Bronn didn’t even look at it, he just stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

“This might be presumptuous of me,” Tyrion started. “But I do have an abundance of social obligations that require dates, and I find it more enjoyable with someone I’m not trying to impress. Would you like to continue this arrangement?”

“Do I get a check this big every time?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a boyfriend,” he said. They shook on it, and that was that.


	2. work events

“So he’s gonna pay you five-hundred bucks to bother his dad – who is the mayor of the city we live in, if you didn’t know that -- and act like a dick at parties?” Ros asked, skeptical as she filed her nails. Shae looked equally suspicious, but that was normal for her.

Bronn didn’t think that was too hard to understand, and he’d always thought his roommates were smart girls. “Yeah. Basically.”

“He’s going to cut you up into little pieces and bury you in a shallow unmarked grave,” Shae said, rolling her eyes.

Ros tilted her head. “Didn’t _you_ date Tyrion?”

“Yes. But he didn’t put creepy internet ads out to lure strangers to his house back then. Clearly something has changed.” She was joking, some people had a hard time discerning Shae’s sense of humor, but Bronn liked it.

He didn’t acknowledge that. “It’ll be fine. I could take him in a fight.”

“Yes, but he has more money than you.”

“He has more money than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Which means he can get away with whatever he wants,” Shae replied, and she was right.

“We’re watching _Personal Ad Predator_ ,” Ros declared. “You need to know what you’re getting into.”

Bronn rolled his eyes, but he allowed himself to be forced to watch the cheesy made-for-TV movie about a man luring women to their death via internet dating ads.

\--

“I thought you didn't believe in internet dating,” Daenerys drawled. She was doing her history homework on his balcony. She was Tyrion's next-door neighbor, a freshman at the local university and an all-around good kid. She lived with her elderly uncle and three very large, strange lizards she treated like dogs.

“It's not dating,” he said, sipping a glass of wine.

“You found a person to take out in a social capacity, is that not dating?” she asked, putting on a fake innocent tone.

“It's purely platonic, Dany,” he sighed.

She gave him a shrewd look over her book. “I don't think it's very responsible to meet strange men on the internet and give them money. He could _rob_ you.”

“I'm starting to regret offering to tutor you,” he lied. Podrick, his adopted son, had reached the age of being positive he knew more than Tyrion, and Daenerys had just gotten past it, so she always accepted his help, even when Pod wouldn’t.

Dany smiled at him. “Do you _like_ him?”

“I've spoken to him once. I'm sure he's perfectly fine. And probably straight.”

She looked unconvinced. “A guy who was – for any number of reasons – looking at personal ads seeking other men?”

“Fair point.” He supposed that was a check in the ‘interested in men’ box.

\--

Bronn was at work when he got the text from Tyrion that he had a work function Bronn could attend with him.

_You have a job?_ He responded, assuming it was a silly fake rich person job.

_Librarian. Charity event for the university. You in?_

_No shit._

_Do you know any babysitters?_

Bronn found this question troubling. He had heard about Tyrion Lannister, but never heard of him having a kid. _My roommates babysat for Cat Stark a few times. Did ok._

Tyrion didn't answer immediately and Slynt, the manager of the store, stalked past and growled that he should get back to work.

What a prick.

\--

Tyrion came to the apartment to drop off Podrick an hour before the event. Bronn examined the kid with a slightly withering look, and Pod cringed at the attention.

"Not biological, I take it?"

Tyrion looked at the brown haired, brown eyed boy. "Really? I thought the resemblance was striking," he deadpanned.

Ros and Shae were in the living room waiting.

"Good to see you, Ros, Shae," he said in a genial, familiar tone. He’d had no idea that Bronn lived with two women he'd dated. It was sure to make things a little more awkward. He wished he’d been warned.

"How are you?" Ros asked, getting up and offering him a hug, smiling. Shae didn’t make any effort to offer a similar gesture, but she did smile.

"Doing fine. Is Pod safe with you two?"

"Of course."

Tyrion was satisfied with that, saying farewell to Pod and sweeping out of the shitty shoebox apartment with Bronn just behind him.

"So you've fucked both of my roommates," he said perceptively.

Tyrion shrugged and grinned up at him. “I'm looking forward to making it three for three.”

Bronn laughed, but he didn’t shoot him down, so Tyrion counted that as a victory.

\--

Bronn was less comfortable at this party than he had been at the last one. This one felt more like he was a prop, rather than an instrument of destruction. Tyrion steered him to and from tables and introduced him to coworkers. But Bronn could see the way he kept eyeing Tywin Lannister in the corner, a smoldering glare on his face.

The free food, however, helped, and the way all of this educated intellectual types balked at his accent pushed him to talk louder and louder with every free glass of wine he smashed down.

They finally made their way to Tyrion’s father, who was speaking to the same woman Bronn had seen him with at the other party – a woman about his age, wearing a sparkly flower broach on her snazzy pantsuit jacket.

“Good to see you as always, Olenna,” Tyrion said to her, and the puzzle pieces clicked into place – Olenna Tyrell was the richest woman in Westeros, the retired CEO of Highgarden, a corporation that specialized in, well, everything.

“And you, Tyrion. And who is this strapping young man? I didn’t get a chance to make his acquaintance before Cersei ran him off last time,” she said, holding out a hand to Bronn.

He shook it, but let Tyrion do the talking.

“This is Bronn,” he said. “My partner.”

“How delightful. Where are you from, Bronn?”

“Here and there,” he said.

“I’d say you’re from Flea Bottom, all told,” she said. “Though it’s clear you have traveled quite a bit.”

“An ear for accents, I suppose, ma’am?” he said.

“Or something like that, my boy,” she said with a cool laugh.

“Tyrion, is this really the sort of place you want to bring…him?” Tywin asked, abandoning tact when he noticed no one was in the vicinity to hear them.

“I am an adult.” He bristled in a disctinctly un-adult way, though, and Bronn stifled a chuckle.

“Tywin, if you kick him out, the rabble will think you’re being homophobic,” Olenna said with a hand on Tywin’s arm.

“How could anyone think that when I tolerate your ridiculous grandson?” he argued, but it seemed Ms Tyrell had successfully pivoted the topic, and Bronn and Tyrion made their escape.

“You know this is just a joke to him, right?” Tywin asked as the pair walked away, both looking absurdly out of place for two very different reasons. “This is a man he’s pulled off the street with the promise of free food.”

“Yes, I’m quite aware. However, you’ll sound like a lunatic if you tell anyone else that, and I must say, he does have assets one can admire. Especially when walking away.”

Tywin made a disgusted face.

“I’m talking about his ass, Tywin, in case you were confused.”

He hadn’t been.

\--

They stumbled out of the university ballroom a little wine-drunk and giggly.

“Do you want to go to the bar with me?” Tyrion asked in an earnest voice, but because he was a little buzzed, something about how serious he sounded made them both laugh more. “You’re free to go home and roll in your money instead, of course.”

“You payin’?”

“At the bar? No shit. I always pay at the bar,” he said.

“Then I’ll go to the bar with ya.”

Tyrion’s driver dropped them off at a bar that was nicer than anywhere Bronn had ever bothered to drink, and left them there. His shift was over, he’d told them.

“I’ll get a cab,” Tyrion had said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I gotta say, Lannister, you know how to party,” Bronn said, thinking back to the library event. Tyrion had made all the right jokes (some of the bawdier ones only Bronn had the balls to laugh at in mixed company), flirted with all the right people, and everyone seemed to enjoy talking to him.

They’d spoken alone a few times too – it wasn’t as if they were the center of the universe – and they’d found a shared enjoyment for drinking, ribald stories that were ambiguously true, and an unearned disdain for most other people.

In a world where he wasn’t handing him a check at that moment, Bronn would think he’d made a friend.

At the bar, Tyrion knew everyone’s name. Bronn wasn’t the only person he bought drinks for, and he was too drunk to see that as insulting.

“Have you fucked everyone in King’s Landing?” Bronn asked. He wasn’t a man of conservative tastes, but everyone in that bar either loved or hated Tyrion in a way that suggested some level of carnal knowledge.

“My ex-brother-in-law Robert has fucked most of King’s Landing, I do try to be a little more discerning,” he said with a grin as the bacon cheese fries were set in between them.

\--

Tyrion woke up the next morning atypically hungover. His alcohol tolerance had exceeded hangovers when he was young, but sometimes when you go a little too hard, you get punished for it. Currently, he found himself in bed, in his usual pajamas, fairly comfortable.

When he got up, he could hear the shower running.

Bronn must have slept over, even though clearly not in Tyrion’s bed.

His phone buzzed and Podrick’s name popped up on the screen.

“I’ll be by to get you soon,” he said immediately.

“It’s okay, Ros and Shae took me out for breakfast and now we’re petting dogs at the park,” he said, sounding happy. That was a relief, at least, in his drunken state he must have let them know he wouldn’t be by to get Podrick that night.

Bronn got out of the shower a minute later, getting dressed as he walked into the living room.

“I should probably get out of here,” he said, taking his sweet, very in-shape time pulling his shirt down over his stomach. Tyrion tried to pretend he hadn’t been staring.

“I have to pick up Pod at your place, let me call my car,” he said.

“Thanks,” he said.

Tyrion thought it was almost like they were actually friends, but he knew that wasn’t actually the case, and the thought almost made him kind of sad.


	3. jaime lannister

Bronn didn’t hear from Tyrion for a few days after the night he’d spent at his place. Nothing had happened, he’d simply been too tired to call another cab after stumbling inside and making sure that neither of them vomited to death.

It didn’t really matter, a business arrangement sort of hinged on them only meeting when they had _business_ , after all. The extra grand Bronn had gotten caught him up on all the bullshit that had been blowing up his phone recently, with more to blow on his favorite thing in the world; himself.

And he’d managed to get the stuff to fix the leak in the ceiling, and Ros had been expressing her gratitude by making him breakfast every morning (albeit poorly. She was getting better, though).

That was why he was eager for Tyrion’s next call. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do with another five-hundred bucks and another house-repair’s worth of gratitude from his normally snarky roommates.

And hey, Tyrion was a cool guy.

So when Tyrion called, he had to force himself to wait a few rings before he answered, so it didn’t come off like he had been waiting for it. He wasn’t desperate, he was poor. There might not be a difference to a Lannister, but there was to him.

“Hey,” he said, the picture of a casual guy who was definitely not behind on his phone bill.

“I have a slightly unconventional request for you,” Tyrion started, not bothering with pleasantries. Another trait that Bronn could find some admiration for.

“Are you finally going to ask me for sex?” he asked before he could stop himself. Shae looked up from where she had been painting her toenails and was now in full eavesdropping mode. “I knew my charms would be too much for you.”

“Oh, no, nothing quite like that,” Tyrion said. “Disappointed?”

He grinned. “Only a little.”

“I need you to go somewhere with me, but I think the going rate is going to have to be different.”

“Hey, we had a verbal contract, man,” he started, feeling a little defensive at the idea of changing their agreement.

“It’s only for this one thing, and you’ll still be _reimbursed_ ,” he said, casual. Bronn could imagine him waving a dismissive hand, probably with a wine glass in it, even though it was eleven in the morning.

“Okay, explain.”

“Do you know Petyr Baelish?”

“The media guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard of ‘em.”

“Well, he likes to follow rich people around and you know, paparazzi and all that. And I think it might be fun for us to go out to dinner at a place I know he enjoys,” Tyrion said.

“So how is this different from our usual arrangement?”

“Do you own a suit?” he asked, which was a weird nonsequiter.

“No.”

“I’ll buy you a suit and take you to the best restaurant in King’s Landing,” he said. “And if those two things come out to less than your usual going rate, I’ll pay you the difference.”

Bronn thought about it for a long moment. It was less than he usually got, but it was still something, and a free meal or two besides. “You have to buy lunch while we’re trying on suits,” he countered. “And you can’t buy the most expensive shit on the menu so that you have to pay me less.”

Tyrion started to laugh. “You’ve got a suspicious mind. I like it,” he said. “Deal. Saturday, then.”

“Alright then, see you then,” he said, hanging up.

“Are you going to sleep with him finally?” Shae asked, now somehow lying upside down on the couch, her legs against the headrest while she aired out her nail lacquer.

“Not on the table. Stop asking.”

She clearly didn’t believe him. “It’s always on the table if you ask nicely,” she suggested.

\--

Buying a suit was a much more involved process than Bronn had imagined, as he stood there being measured for what felt like the fiftieth time in the half an hour they had been there. He was a patient, mature adult, but he was starting to feel worn down by the blond measuring him and his weirdly judgmental sighs.

Measuring finally done, he was ushered back to the front of the store.

“We’ll call when it’s ready to get picked up,” the tailor said, and they paid their tab (well, Tyrion did) and left.

“So exactly how involved are we going to be for this paparazzi nonsense?” Bronn asked over a giant platter of Dornish stuffed peppers.

“I’m going to judge it in the moment,” Tyrion said. “Our PDA level is going to have to feel natural, so we probably don’t want to rehearse.” This was a wise choice, yes, and Bronn tried to imagine Tyrion Lannister being interested in PDA. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing he would go for.

“Tyrion?”

“Jaime!”

Tyrion’s brother was standing at their table, a curious look on his face as he looked between them.

“You’ve met Bronn.”

“I’m going to be honest, I figured he was just some guy you found on the street to annoy Father with for a night or two,” he said, pulling up a chair and helping himself to their food unprompted. “I didn’t realize you actually spent time together.”

“He found me on the internet, not the street,” Bronn said, plucking a fry out of Jaime’s outstretched hand.

There was something like disappointment on Jaime’s face. “Ah. Well, then I assume you’re scheming some new plan to upset Father and Cersei?”

“Oh, naturally,” Tyrion said, sharing a grin with Bronn.

Jaime didn’t say much else, simply ate in thoughtful silence, struggling a little with a prosthetic hand.

“Want a ride home?” Tyrion asked as he paid the waitress and packed up the leftovers, which Bronn had every intention of claiming for himself.

“Sure.”

Jaime sat up front with the driver, but it didn’t stop him from turning around and talking to them in the back. “You know, if you put half as much effort into making actual friends as you did making fake friends to piss off Tywin, you would be the most popular man in town,” he said.

“I have plenty of friends, Jaime.”

“Yeah, but…” He sighed and shook his head. “You need friends you aren’t paying for. Like, a real, meaningful relationship.”

Bronn felt like he was eavesdropping even though he wasn’t, and it didn’t bother him all that much, but it felt odd to sit around while a grown man got scolded by his older brother.

“I’ll be fine.” Tyrion was dismissive as ever. “Ignore my brother,” he said, turning to Bronn. “He seems to think I’m going to die alone.”

“How are you gonna die?” Bronn asked, trying to pivot topics. Jaime rolled his eyes.

“Hopefully, at 80, drunk and surrounded by prostitutes.”

“Sounds like a good way to go.”

They fist-bumped and Jaime groaned, turning around and making conversation with the driver instead.


	4. fancy dinners and all that

_Your suit is ready. Dinner tonight._

It was the blunt kind of text that Bronn usually sent when he intended to get laid, but he knew the deal and knew what was expected of him. He picked up the suit as instructed, being incredibly gentle with it. Not that he cared if he came to this fancy dinner rumpled or otherwise imperfect looking. He didn’t have anyone to impress, after all.

He managed to wrestle Ros out of the bathroom so he could shower in spite of her protests, spending altogether too long contemplating his hair while he shaved. He settled on slicking it back.

“Ros, do you remember how to tie a fuckin’ tie?” he called when he was halfway ready, five minutes before Tyrion was set to arrive. He had spent a little time getting stoned and eating cheese puffs in his underwear to kill some time and had ended up losing track of it.

“Yes, yes. Come here,” she said, rolling her eyes. A donut was hanging out of her mouth. She was halfway through tying the damned thing when they heard the front door open, both turning to see Tyrion in the doorway.

“Your mother still ties your tie for you, Bronn?” he snarked.

“That is not funny,” Ros immediately shot back, finished with her good work and donut back in her hand.

“I’m sorry. Poor taste,” he conceded, turning his attention to Bronn. “You certainly clean up nicely.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere, mate,” he said, though it was probably not strictly speaking true.

Tyrion grinned. “We’ll see.”

Ros rolled her eyes and walked away. “Don’t keep him out too late, Tyrion. I know where you live.”

“She still thinks you’re going to kill me and bury me in a shallow grave,” Bronn explained as they left.

His expression was petulant. “That’s ridiculous. I’d have a very deep grave dug for you.”

“That’s what I keep telling her.”

\--

Tyrion had very little trouble getting in anywhere. Not in the literal sense of the word, because there were always…troubles, but his surname got him almost anything he wanted otherwise. So a short-notice reservation was hardly trouble.

Making sure their table was nice and close to his dear friend Petyr Baelish’s regular spot at the bar was also easy.

He hadn’t counted on how distractingly good Bronn looked in the suit, but he supposed that was just the curse of tailored clothes. Anyone could look good in them, it’s how he had fooled a respectable chunk of Westeros into naming him one of the country’s most eligible bachelors.

“You’ve never eaten here before, correct?”

“Answer your own question.”

“Fair enough.”

“Baelish should be here in the next fifteen minutes. He keeps a very regular schedule,” he said. “When he comes in, you must act quite enamored with me.”

 “It’s going to be difficult, but I’m not a half bad actor,” he said. “Or so my brief stint with community theater might have led me to believe.”

Tyrion tried to hide his surprise. “Are you fucking with me?” he asked as the inevitable snicker left him.

“Of course I am. But you believed me. Kinda proves my point.”

He had to give him that one.

Their appetizer was served before Littlefinger arrived, which was according to plan. They didn’t need to look like they’d just sat down when he got there. They needed to be engrossed in conversation.

So when he heard the hostess greet a Mister Baelish, he was working his way through some sort of roasted Dornish bean. It was quite good.

“Put your hand on my hand,” he commanded under his breath, a full view of Littlefinger’s irritatingly confident swagger as he made his way across the dining room.

Bronn leaned forward to comply, a piece of bread still clutched in the other hand. He ate like he was storing it for later, restaurants like this one with their maddeningly small portions were probably the bane of his existence. They’d have to get cheese fries later.

“Laugh at something I said,” Bronn demanded, leaned in.

Tyrion let out a fairly convincing chuckle, saving himself from making eye contact with the incredibly “intrepid” (corrupt and horrible) “journalist” who was now eyeballing them with some fascination. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you,” he supplied as a follow up to Bronn’s fake punchline. He might have thought of something clever, but someone was stroking the skin on his hand and he was getting weirdly flustered.

They broke apart long enough to order their entrees and second drinks.

By the end of the meal (sharing a delicate chocolate orb full of strawberry something or another), they were both drunk enough to be comfortable with the excessive physical contact, but it still made Tyrion feel a little lightheaded when it came too abruptly.

The cool evening air was sobering enough, but Bronn seemed to be interested in the front of the restaurant as they waited for the car.

“Don’t freak out,” was all he said, leaning down and kissing Tyrion quite abruptly.

The car pulled up and the general public was spared from Tyrion’s shocked sputtering, though he was sure he would be hearing some sass from his driver. “What in the hell?”

“The front of that restaurant was all glass, he was still watching it. Figured I’d sell it,” Bronn said, reclining in his seat like he owned it. He was far too comfortable in Tyrion’s car, around Tyrion’s things, kissing Tyrion on the mouth.

“Should I drop you at your place?” he asked, his tone measured.

“Let’s go to the bar. That was not filling.”

“I thought you would say that,” he said, grinning.

\--

Bronn was halfway through his bacon cheese fries when the fact that he had kissed Tyrion Lannister in public hit him again. He tried not to laugh.

“What?”

“Just, the look on your face when I kissed you,” he said with a bad-natured chuckle. “It was like –” He tried to pull an approximation of the shock on the other man’s face, but they were both a little more drunk than they should be.

They were both giggling.

“I did not look like that.”

“Nah, you looked like you didn’t want me to stop.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes, but Bronn could see right through that prickly exterior, because he wore the exact same one. He wasn’t an idiot.

“Like a teenage girl getting her first kiss. Very dreamy.”

“It’s the suit, it’s really doing it for me,” he said, and Bronn really wanted to believe he was being sincere.

Raising an eyebrow, he very meticulously removed the jacket and started rolling up his sleeves. “Really now?”

“God, you’re making it worse,” Tyrion groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I don’t want to see your forearms.”

Bronn had the upper hand for once in this whole little game, and he planned on using it. “So, your place?” he asked.

“My place,” Tyrion agreed, trying to find someone to settle their tab with in the crowd while Bronn downed the last of his beer.


End file.
